THE DETECTIVE'S WIFE

by BJ Bourg

“How'd you know to pick him up?” I asked.

“He's the obvious choice. Paroled a month ago for manslaughter.”

“Are you sure he did it?”

“He confessed. Plus,” Detective Malcolm Dempster held up a plastic bag containing a Ruger P-85 9mm pistol, “we found this gun in his apartment. It matches the casings from the scene.”

“Who's it registered to?”

“Serial number's been removed.”

I stared bolts of lightning through the one-way glass and into the top of Pete Landry's head—right where I wanted to bury an axe. It sounded like someone else's voice in the distance when I said, “Did he say why he did it?”

“Needed a car.”

“But why kill her?”

“Said she reached for her phone, so he shot her. He's looking to back up ten years. Guess he didn't want to go back to the slammer.”

I watched as Landry stared down at his worn boots. He had long, matted hair and rough clothes. The side door to the interview room opened and a patrolman walked in. Pete looked up, and I saw his face for the first time. The wrinkles were deep and his eyes squinting. He had about a year's worth of growth on his face.

Forget the confession…this guy looked like a killer.

The patrolman motioned for Pete to stand. Pete held the desk for support and got to his feet. He grimaced and slouched over.

I asked Malcolm about the cut on Pete Landry's lip and the blood on his scruffy beard.

“He took a swing at me.” Malcolm rubbed the back of his hand. “You know how it goes.”

I looked deep into Malcolm's eyes. He and I had worked together for ten years. I'd covered his ass more than once and had never asked anything in return. I had been saving my favors for a rainy day—and on this day it stormed. “I want to talk to him.”

“You know I can't let you.”

I tried to remain calm. “I need to hear him say it.”

“Sorry, Joe. It could jeopardize the case.”

I watched through the glass as the patrolman cuffed the suspect's hands, shackled his feet, and then led him out the room. “I need to look in his eyes, hear him say it.” I knew my voice shook. The river of tears tried to surface, but I managed to suppress it. “If our friendship means anything, you'll do this one thing.”

Malcolm's own eyes watered. The muscles in his cheeks bulged. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. Without saying another word, he turned and abruptly left the room.

***

I had been under the illusion the pain in my chest would subside once the killer got arrested, but this evening felt no different than the previous days. I sank to the sofa and flicked the power button on the remote.

“Police say they've arrested the man who killed Detective Joe Adams' wife earlier this week,” the anchorwoman on the ten o'clock news said. “Pete Landry, who is on parole for killing a man in a barroom fight, was taken into custody early this morning. After hours of questioning, police say he's confessed to the murder.”

I changed the channel. More news.

“It all started early Monday morning when twenty-seven year old Patty Adams, the wife of Detective Joe Adams, a ten-year veteran with the Chateau Parish Sheriff's Office, was found shot to death outside their secluded home in upper Chateau. The couple's Ford Expedition was missing, along with the victim's purse. Deputies located the vehicle on the same night in the 400-block of Reed Blvd. A source close to the investigation told me earlier today a tip led police to the home of Pete Landry, who lives two blocks from where they recovered the vehicle. The victim's purse and a pistol were recovered from the home…”

I turned off the television and threw the remote across the room. I walked to the kitchen and grabbed my supper—a six-pack of Miller Light. When I swallowed the last drop, I sprawled on the floor in front of the bookshelf. Struggling to suck air into my stuffed belly, I pulled a stack of photo albums from the bottom shelf and flipped through the pictures. They chronicled my perfect life with Patty. I had never been a big fan of crying, but on this night, I held season tickets.

When I could no longer stand the pain in my chest, I lifted my pistol. I pressed the muzzle against my temple, wrapped my finger around the cold trigger, and began to apply slow, steady pressure—

Shit! I threw my pistol to the floor. My mom had always taught me suicide victims go to hell. Patty was an angel. She had surely gone to heaven. If I killed myself, I'd never see her again.

I stumbled off to the bedroom. Once a place of passion and warmth, it now stood as the loneliest place in my house—on my planet. Sleep was a wish that hadn't come true since the murder, but one vital point made this night different than the others: when I closed my eyes, I could see the face of the man I had to kill.

***

“What are you doing here?” The question sounded more like an accusation.

I placed my briefcase on the floor and turned to face Malcolm. “Staying home is not helping. I've got to do something to take my mind off of things.”

Malcolm sighed. “Just lie low for a while. Chief doesn't want you on the job until Lisa's cleared you.”

“I ain't talking to her. What the hell does she know about losing a spouse? She's never even owned a dog.”

“Just jump through a few—”

“Screw that. I don't need a shrink.” I walked to my desk and booted up my computer. My inbox had over three hundred messages. Most of them condolences. I pretended to be preoccupied with my emails while Malcolm rambled on. He finally shut up and went about his business.

At nine-thirty, with the reliability of a Timex, Malcolm went for his second cup of coffee. When he disappeared down the hall, I stole a glance at the investigative file on his desk. My hands shook as I removed my wife's autopsy report. As I scanned the pages, sweat formed like soldiers on my forehead and marched down my face. When I read the last paragraph on the third page, I sprang to my feet and dropped the report. I stood there and stared down at the report, losing all track of time.

“What are you doing?” Malcolm's voice startled me.

“I'm sorry. You left it sitting there and…and…”

“How much did you read?”

I sank to my chair. “Enough.”

Malcolm put his hand on my shoulder. “I wanted to tell you, but couldn't.”

“We'd been trying for two years to get pregnant.” I sighed. “Two long, long years!”

“I'm so sorry, partner.”

Tears streamed down my face. I didn't care who saw it. “She wanted to go to dinner the night she got killed. Said she needed to tell me something.” I buried my face in my hands. “I had no idea we were going to have a baby!”

“Joe, I give you my word, this prick will pay for what he did!”

I stared up through blurry eyes. “You've got to get me close to him.”

“You know it can't happen. The case could get screwed up.”

“To hell with the case! This guy won't make it to trial.”

“Stop talking crazy shit. You try something and they'll put you in jail.”

I jumped to my feet. “That's it!”

“What?”

I stared Malcolm in the eyes. “I need to get arrested.”

“Dude, you're talking crazy.”

“It's the only way I can get close to him.”

“They'll never put you two in the same cell. Think about it.”

I glanced down at the case file on his desk and swallowed the sand in my throat. “I want to see the crime scene photos.”

Without saying a word, Malcolm pulled a stack of pictures from a photo envelope and handed it to me. I sat at my desk and flipped through them. The first few showed an overall view of my house and surrounding property wrapped in crime scene tape. I shuffled my way through the stack. The front of my shirt jumped with each thunderous beat of my heart. When the dreaded picture finally came into view, my heart nearly stopped beating altogether. The blood pounded in my ears. I had to blink to clear my eyes. Patty lay face-down in a thick pool of blood. Her right arm rested under her stomach, and her red hair concealed her face. Her left arm extended away from her body. I scratched my head.

Malcolm had worked with me too long. “What do you see?”

“Something's not right.”

“What do you mean?”

I flipped through more of the pictures. A close-up of Patty's left hand caught my attention. “Her rings—they're missing.”

Malcolm leaned over my shoulder. “What kinds were they?”

“A one-karat diamond ring set in white gold. She had a matching wedding band. Her first name is engraved inside the wedding band and her last name inside the diamond ring.”

“You sure she had them on?”

“She'd only take them off to wash dishes. Did Landry say anything about the rings?”

Malcolm shook his head. “And we didn't recover them at his house.”

“We need to check the pawn shops.” I flipped through the stack of photos until I came to my Ford Expedition. The picture showed it parked in a wooded area off of Reed Blvd. A bloody handprint could be clearly seen on the outside of the driver's door. It streaked from just beneath the keypad to the bottom of the door. I shook my head and stuffed the pictures back into the envelope. “Malcolm, this guy has to die.”

Malcolm started to answer, but a voice from the intercom interrupted him.

“Malcolm, Deputy Kevin Fowler's on line two. He says it's urgent.”

Malcolm snatched up the receiver and spoke for several minutes. He hung up the phone and turned to me. “You're not going to believe this.”

“What?”

“Someone found one of your wife's rings.”

I leaped to my feet. “Let's go.”

Malcolm hesitated.

“I'll stay out of it,” I promised. “I just have to feel like I'm doing something to contribute. Besides, you'll need me to identify the ring.”

Malcolm exhaled and his shoulders dipped. “Alright, but stay cool.”

We met Deputy Fowler at a farmhouse on Market Street . He handed me a plastic bag containing a silver wedding band. I looked closely at it and nodded.

“It's Patty's. There's her name.”

Malcolm turned to Fowler. “Who found it?”

Fowler pointed to an open barn where an elderly man bent over a tractor tire.

“He found it on his cane road. His name's Jake Benoit.”

“Thanks, Kevin. I've got it from here.” Malcolm told me to wait by his unmarked Crown Victoria and he set off to interview the witness. He returned in ten minutes. “What a waste of time.”

“How so?”

“Says he found the ring somewhere on the cane field road behind his property. Doesn't remember when and has no idea how it got there.”

“Did Pete say anything about coming back here?”

“No, but it doesn't mean he didn't. It's a good place to get rid of evidence.”

I scratched my head. “Why would he get rid of the rings, but keep the purse?”

Malcolm shrugged. “Who knows? You know yourself this shit doesn't always make sense.”

“Yeah, you're right.”

***

I waited patiently at the back of the long line. It had been nearly a year since my wife's murder, and I still didn't know how I felt about watching the trial. It was certainly time for it to be over. Three days in and I was already drained. I glanced toward the front of the line. It seemed to be standing still. After waiting ten minutes, the deputy assigned to courthouse security looked up and saw me. He waved me around. “Detective Adams , you know you don't have to walk through the metal detectors.”

I smiled. “I guess I just have a lot on my mind.”

He nodded his understanding. “Good luck with everything, sir.”

I took the stairs two at a time and stopped to take a deep breath before entering the crowded courtroom. Inside, I took my seat beside Malcolm's wealthy wife. Sarah Dempster had been a constant pillar of support since Patty's murder. She had even offered a fifty thousand dollar reward for the capture and conviction of those responsible for the heinous crime.

Sarah looked up at me and smiled. “How'd you sleep?”

“Better. Thanks for asking.”

The door to the Judge's chambers flung open and the bailiff stepped out. “All rise!”

I stood with the rest of the courtroom audience. We watched as the twelve jurors and two alternates filed in and took their seats in the jury box. When we were seated again, I glared at Pete Landry's back. Malcolm's wife squeezed my hand and leaned close. “It's almost over,” she whispered.

I nodded.

Prosecutor Jared Blackley stood to his feet. “Your Honor, State calls Detective Malcolm Dempster back to the stand.”

The bailiff whisked out of the courtroom to the hallway, where Malcolm and the other witnesses were sequestered. Malcolm strode in and took his seat in the witness chair.

Judge Cheramie nodded. “You're still under oath, Detective.”

Jared Blackley again addressed the court. “Your Honor, at this time we intend to play the recorded confession the defendant gave to Detective Dempster.”

Judge Cheramie glanced over at Pete Landry's attorney. “Any objections—other than those cited in your Motion to Suppress?”

Rita Burgess pursed her lips and shook her head. “None, Your Honor.”

Judge Cheramie nodded. “Proceed.”

Malcolm removed an audiocassette tape from an evidence envelope and slid it into a Marantz cassette player. The courtroom sat in total silence as the tape began to play. I lowered my head. Remain calm, I told myself, as I listened to Pete Landry confess to the murder of my wife.

“Did you say anything as you approached her?” Malcolm's voice boomed from the speakers.

“No,” came the muffled response, “she was getting in the car. I just started shooting. She fell to the ground and then I ran away.”

“She was getting in her car?”

“Yeah.”

“Was the door open or closed?”

“Open. I shot her, she fell, I ran away.”

“Why did you shoot her?”

“I don't know.”

“Did she reach for something?”

“Uh, yeah, her phone.”

“What about the car? Did you take it?”

“Yeah.”

“Where'd you leave it?”

“On my street.”

“Did you take anything else?”

“No.”

“What about her purse?”

“Oh, yeah, I took her purse.” Pete's voice sounded tired.

I glanced up at Pete. He stared right back at me. He shook his head and mouthed the words, “I didn't kill your wife.”

I glared at him. How dare he even look at me! Pete abruptly turned his head.

When Malcolm finished playing the tape, Rita Burgess cross-examined him for nearly an hour. She tried to accuse Malcolm of beating the confession out of her client and of planting Patty's purse and the murder weapon in Pete Landry's room. It didn't work. She couldn't mess with a seasoned officer like Malcolm. When the feeble onslaught ended, Jared Blackley stood to his feet and, in a victorious voice, announced, “The State rests, Your Honor.”

Judge Cheramie nodded. “Very well. Mrs. Burgess.”

For their first witness, Rita Burgess called Pete's wife. A teary-eyed Gretchen Landry testified her husband had been home on the day of the murder and he could not have killed Patty Adams. “I'm positive that lady's purse could not have been in my bedroom before the detectives got there.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I cleaned my house earlier that morning.”

“What about this gun the detective claims he found in your house,” Rita said.

“Have you ever seen it?”

Gretchen Landry shook her head. “Pete's never owned a gun. He's never even shot one. He wouldn't even know how.”

“Thank you, that's all.” When Gretchen Landry left the witness stand, Rita Burgess asked for a recess.

Judge Cheramie looked at the large clock on the wall. “We'll go ahead and break for lunch at this time.”

I stood to go, but Pete's voice cut through the courtroom like a molten Cold Steel slicing butter, “Detective Adams, I didn't do this to your wife. Please don't let them kill an innocent man.”

My hand gripped the Smith and Wesson “AirLite” .38 Special in my pocket. I knew I had to kill Pete Landry—fate decided it by letting me get my gun into the courthouse—but I didn't know when I was supposed to do it. As I stared into his eyes for only the second time, I suddenly realized something—he might be telling the truth. Sarah's hand on my arm took my attention away from Pete. I walked out into the hallway, where Malcolm waited.

“How you holding up, Joe?”

I stared deep into Malcolm's eyes. “In his recorded confession, Pete said he shot Patty when she got in her car, while the door was open.”

“Yeah. So?”

“If Patty was inside the doorway, how'd the bloody handprint get on the outside of the door?”

Malcolm shrugged. “She could've touched it after he closed the door.”

“No, she had already fallen to the ground and the blood was too high on the door. Another thing; not once, but twice Pete said he shot Patty, she fell, and he ran away. You came back and asked if he took the car. Only then did he admit to doing it.” I paused and rubbed my chin. My mind raced. Almost to myself, I said, “He sounded sluggish, worn down, like he was in pain. It sounded like he just said what you wanted to—”

“What the hell are you trying to say?” Malcolm's eyes were daggers of anger.

“Are you his Goddamn attorney? You trying to help this asshole walk?”

Sarah gasped. “Malcolm! In the name of God, watch your language! There are people here.”

“No, this is bullshit!” Malcolm jabbed his finger in my chest. “I find the guy who kills your wife, I get him to confess, I get physical evidence against him, I…I do all these things and you do…you do what? You brow beat me because this asshole hesitates before answering questions that'll send him to the needle?”

I stood silent for several minutes, searching Malcolm's face. I nodded. “You're right. I'm sorry. I just want to make sure Pete Landry gets what's coming to him.”

Malcolm held my gaze for a small piece of eternity. He finally let out a long sigh and slapped my shoulder. “Don't worry about it. This Pete Landry, he's gonna pay—I swear to God, he's gonna pay. Let's go grab something to eat. Sarah and I are walking to Gina's Seafood.”

“I'm not hungry,” I lied. “I think I'll just go for a walk.”

Malcolm nodded, and he and Sarah stepped into the elevator. When the doors closed, I returned to the courtroom and met Jared Blackley as he walked out. “We need to talk.”

Jared stopped. “Sounds serious. What've you got?”

“Do you have Jake Benoit down as a witness?”

“Never heard of him.” Jared's eyebrows tapered. “Is there something I need to know?”

“I'm not sure. I need to check into something.”

“What?”

“I'll get back with you.” I spun away and rushed down the stairs. I jogged to my unmarked Crown Victoria and drove the twenty miles to Market Road . I held my breath when I pulled into Jake Benoit's driveway and stepped out of my car. I scanned the property. I exhaled my relief when I saw Jake in his barn. “Mr. Benoit?”

Jake turned slowly and watched me approach.

“I'm Detective Joe Adams.”

Jake Benoit nodded. “What can I do for you?”

“I'd like to ask you some questions about the ring you found last year.”

Jake scowled. “I already told the other detective everything back when it happened. It's been awhile. My memory might not be too clear.”

“I understand. Do you mind repeating it for me?”

“I guess not.”

As Jake Benoit told his story, my heart raced. I began to tremble. My breath came in gasps.

“You okay, son?”

I clutched at the pain in my chest. “I…I'll be alright.”

The old man had genuine concern in his eyes. “Did I say something to upset you?”

“Can you be in court within the hour?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

“Good. Be there!” I ran to my car, jerked the door open, and fumbled with the key. My trembling hands struggled to insert it into the tiny ignition hole. When the engine roared to life, I punched it in gear and smashed the pedal. I left a trail of dust in my wake as I raced up Market Road and straight to the courthouse. I had to get my hands on Malcolm's case file before he returned from lunch. I knew he only wanted to protect me, but I had to know the truth—all of it.

The only parking spot available on the crowded street happened to be in front of a fire hydrant. I didn't care. I snatched my Slim Jim from under my seat and walked the two blocks to where Malcolm had parked his Crown Vic. I glanced around. Not a person in sight. I pressed my face up against the dark-tinted window and cupped my hands to block out the sunlight. There it lay, on his front seat.

I tried to appear casual as I slipped the Slim Jim into the rubber crack between the driver's window and the doorframe. I guided it to the keyhole. With a deft flick of the wrist and a pull, the door unlocked. I eased it open and slipped into the driver's seat. A quick scan of the file revealed nothing I hadn't already known. I began to read Malcolm's report more thoroughly. No mention of Jake Benoit.

Voices suddenly drew my attention to the rear of the car. My heart stopped in my chest. Malcolm and Sarah were two blocks away, and closing fast.

Thinking quickly, I shoved the report back into the file and returned it to the front seat. I dove into the backseat and flattened myself onto the floorboard. Panic's icy fingers gripped my heart as I tried to squeeze under the seat. The voices drew nearer. I held my breath. Sweat dripped from my face and splashed onto the floor mat. The sound of a key being pushed into the keyhole grated loud in the enclosed space. The door opened. I could hear Malcolm and Sarah's voices more clearly.

“It should end today,” Malcolm said.

“That would be great,” Sarah responded. “How long do you think it'll take for the jury to return a verdict?”

I felt Malcolm's presence as he leaned into the front seat and retrieved his file. I tried to inch my way deeper behind the seat. “No longer than an hour,” he said.

The door slammed shut and I heard their voices grow fainter as they moved toward the courthouse. I lay trembling for several minutes. When my breathing returned to normal, I started to rise. A glint from under the front passenger's seat caught my eye. Curious, I reached for the object. A rubber mat covered the floorboard and the object protruded from under the flap in the corner. After some wriggling, I worked it free.

I pulled the object into the light and sat up. I immediately recognized it. When realization hit me, I doubled over and vomited on the floor.

***

Jake Benoit sat downstairs in the hallway when I walked into the courthouse. I motioned for him to follow me. We made our way up the back stairs. I sneaked him into the Judge's chambers and to the door that lead to the courtroom.

When we burst into the courtroom, the jury had already been seated and Attorney Rita Burgess stood facing Judge Cheramie. “No sir, I don't have any additional witnesses. The Defense—”

“Wait! You have one more witness.”

Every head in the courtroom jerked around. I raised my hand. “Please forgive the interruption, Judge, but I need to speak with Mrs. Burgess.”

Pete leaned over and spoke into Rita Burgess' ear. His eyes were wide and his head jerked up and down. Rita nodded. “Judge, can I have a moment to confer with this witness?”

Judge Cheramie agreed, and Rita met with us at the back of the courtroom. I told her what Jake had told me and I gave her my theories. Her eyes turned to fire.

She hurried to the lawyer's table and cleared her throat. “The defense calls Mr. Jake Benoit as its next witness.”

Jared Blackley jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. We've had no prior notice this witness would be testifying today.”

“I've just been informed about Detective Dempster's interview of this witness eight months ago,” Burgess countered. “The State has never provided me with a transcript of the interview, nor has it even been mentioned in any of the reports.”

After several minutes of intense arguing, Judge Cheramie ruled to allow Jake Benoit's testimony.

“I found the ring on the cane field road behind my house,” Jake said during his testimony. “Right where I'd always seen the white SUV. I figured the woman must've dropped it.”

“What woman?”

“The woman on the TV…the one who got killed.”

“How often did she go onto your property?”

“Once or twice a week, sometimes more.”

“Was she alone?”

“Never. A cop car always met her there. A white one, the kind with no lights.”

“Who drove the cop car?”

“A man detective.”

“Would the woman interact with the detective?”

“Oh, yeah. They would hug and kiss outside, and then they would get into the car or the SUV.”

“How long would they stay there?”

Jake shrugged. “An hour, I guess. Sometimes longer.”

“When did the two vehicles meet behind your property for the last time?”

“The day before she got killed. They didn't stay long. Maybe five minutes. The detective left first. He seemed mad, because he peeled out when he drove off.”

“Okay, you identified the man as a detective. How do you know this?”

“He was the same man who came to talk to me about the ring.”

“So, you got a good look at him?”

“Oh, yeah. I got a good look at both of them. They'd always wave to me when they passed.”

“Do you know the detective's name?”

“He gave me his card.” Jake pulled a worn, leather wallet from his back pocket and fished out a yellow business card. “This is it. Detective Malcolm Dempster.”

People in the audience gasped. I had been staring at Sarah. Her mouth dropped open and tears welled up in her eyes.

“No more questions,” Rita Burgess said.

Rita called Malcolm back to the witness stand. Every soul in the courtroom sat graveyard quiet when he walked in. He sat in the witness chair and winked at the court reporter. He scanned the courtroom and his eyebrows puckered when he saw Sarah crying.

“Good afternoon, Detective,” Rita said in a soothing voice.

“Ma'am.”

“How long had you been having an affair with Patty Adams?”

Malcolm choked. The color drained from his face. “Um…excuse me?”

“How long had you been meeting Patty Adams at the back of Market Road and having sexual relations with her?”

“Um…I…this is…”

“May I remind you you're under oath, Detective?”

Malcolm glanced at me and I stared right into his eyes. He dropped his head.

Judge Cheramie leaned forward. “Detective, answer the question.”

“Six months.”

Rita held up Patty's diamond ring—the one I'd found under the seat of Malcolm's car. “How'd this ring get in your car?”

Malcolm just stared.

“It's okay to say it, Detective. We already know.”

Tears streamed down Malcolm's face. “She took them off when we…when we did it. You know, out of respect for Joe. One day she called and said she couldn't find them. I looked around, but…”

The blood froze inside my veins. My heart was numb. I shoved my hand in my pocket. My trigger finger twitched when it touched the .38 Special.

“Detective, isn't it true, on the last day you two met, Patty told you she was pregnant with your child?”

Malcolm sat silent.

“Detective,” Judge Cheramie bellowed, “this is your last warning. You will answer the question.”

Malcolm just nodded.

“And didn't she tell you of her intentions to sit down with Joe and come clean about the affair?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“And isn't that why you killed her? So you could keep her quiet and preserve the life you had with your rich wife?”

The courtroom erupted. Judge Cheramie slammed his gavel. “Silence in the courtroom or I'll have you all removed! Detective, you don't have to answer the question.”

Rita Burgess would not be denied. “You framed my client to cover your own ass! Admit it!”

Malcolm's eyes were wide. “I couldn't…I didn't know what else to do! I'm not a bad person. I just…I…I had no choice!”

I stood. The movement caught Judge Cheramie's eye. “Detective Adams , please take your seat.”

“How could you do this to me, Malcolm?”

“Joe!” Judge Cheramie said in a firm voice. “Sit down!”

I pulled the .38 Special from my pocket and aimed it at Malcolm. “After all the shit I've done for you…”

Judge Cheramie screamed at me to drop my gun. Several women shrieked.

Shoes clattered against the hard floor. The door behind me smashed open. My vision blurred. Amid all the confusion, one soft voice reached out and tapped my subconscious mind—Sarah Dempster. Like a programmed robot, I began to respond to her mesmerizing whisper of, “Do it.”

Malcolm stood. “Joe, please, I'm so sorry! I didn't know what to—”

The gun bucked in my hand. The front of Malcolm's shirt jumped. I fired again…and again. Gunpowder burned my nostrils. Malcolm pressed a hand to his chest and blood oozed through his fingers. He fell hard to his knees. A blank expression befell his face, and he collapsed to the ground. I tore my gaze from his lifeless body and looked up at the jury. To their credit, they hadn't even flinched. They stared at me with somber eyes. One of the men in the front row, an elderly man with graying hair, gave a slight nod of approval.

Knowing what I had to do next, I let out a long sigh. I saluted the jury and then stuck the muzzle of the gun in my mouth. I closed my eyes. Hell was where Patty had gone…and we needed to talk.